The spoon is cold

You went off while I was at work
And shot up with a stranger.
Now you're dead in an alley
While I'm living in hell.
It should have been me.
You never gave back my heart
Before you went and OD'd
And I'm too scared to dig up your corpse
To get it back on my own.
I wouldn't use it anyway.
Besides, I rather remember you like you were
Not bones and rotting flesh in a box.
Just so long as you don't see me
Like I've been since you died.
You'd be upset with me.

It's a bad day, on my last syringe
Now I actually need to leave the house.
Cringe when I think of all the ones that I've shared
A feeble attempt an indirect suicide that failed.
Somehow I remain clean.
Do a shot just before leaving
Now I can't hear anything in my head.
Put on my headphones, walking out the door
Now I can't hear anything outside my head.
Not silence, but as close as I'll get.
Make the long walk to the exchange van
No interactions with anyone
Except with my dealer
And the lady to get my new rigs.
How am I still alive and free?

Back home with a couple 10 packs.
About to get on the ferry to come visit you
But Charon wasn't wearing his red sash.
Maybe he updated his wardrobe.
Who am I to judge?
Turns out I just ended up in Algiers
Sure it's a Hades of its own
But not the one I can see you in.
How'd he screw up my destination?
I want my obolus back!
Now I'll have to wander these shores
For a hundred years
When I finally manage to die
If I'm not immortal, that is.
This life's been too long, the spoon is cold.